


Live to fight another day

by Anonymous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Anal Play, Analingus, Angry Sex, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fuck Or Die, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot, Spanking, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is captured and kept in a luxurious but magic-dampening room. The aliens who abducted him make him an offer: kill the other prisoner and he can go free.</p>
<p>The other prisoner is Natasha Romanov; Loki makes the aliens, and Natasha, a counter-offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live to fight another day

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on LJ avengerkink:   
> "I need more Loki/Natasha fic, so how about one where Natasha must have sex with somebody to save her life (because of ~reasons~) and the only person available/suitable is Loki. Natasha is quietly determined to get through this and Loki is rather interested. Preferably not dub-con (any more than fuck-or-die already is) or non-con."

Loki is pacing the room where the aliens have contained him, wondering why he keeps ending up in magic-dampening situations. Next time he'll travel in disguise so his enemies aren't prepared.  
  
He's only been here a day and he's bored out of his mind, and no one has told him why they captured him in the first place. He flings himself on the divan and starts singing that vulgar refrain he learned from Volstagg, the one about Enery the Eighth, whoever that was. He hopes it drives his captors as crazy as it does him - he knows they can see and hear him somehow.  
  
The lights flicker, as before the second act in a theatre, and Loki keeps on singing but pricks up his ears. Sure enough, a panel slides aside, and one of the creatures stands there looking rather smugly through the transparent barrier.  
  
"We have a task you must perform, in order to gain your freedom," it snarls.   
  
Loki prepares to hear about spinning straw into gold, or being stuffed into a lamp for ten thousand years, so he's startled when the barrier is dropped for just a moment, just long enough for the alien to shove someone into the room. A human, a biped, clad in black, copper colored hair flying as it hits the floor and leaps right back up, assuming a defensive posture.  
  
A female human.  
  
"Agent Romanov," says Loki, rising and offering his hand. "What a pleasant surprise."  
  
Natasha Romanov whirls to glare at him. She doesn't take his hand, instead spitting at it; he wipes it off pointedly on the cover of the divan before sinking back down to sit.  
  
"I might have known you were behind this," she hisses.  
  
"He is not," says the creature at the door. "He is also our prisoner. We have learned that your people consider him an enemy. Here he is, then, powerless and imprisoned. We offer you a chance to wreak revenge upon him."  
  
Natasha looks from the door back to Loki, who sits calmly returning her stare.  
  
"What's the catch?" she asks suspiciously.  
  
"There is no 'catch'. You will fight. Whoever is left alive will be permitted to leave our realm and return home in peace."  
  
"And if we choose not to fight?" Loki asks, shrugging.  
  
"We will kill you both."  
  
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he replies. "Surely you haven't caught us just to lose us so easily. You went to all this trouble to cage me in a magic-proof cell; why not make use of my...other talents?"  
  
The alien looks as suspicious as it can with four eyestalks and no eyebrow ridge.  
  
"What other talents?" it asks dubiously.  
  
Loki rises again and starks to walk slowly toward the human, who has been watching the exchange while still in a battle stance. He gets within a few metres of her before she skips back a bit, maintaining the distance, and he laughs. With his eyes still on her he says, "Sexual talents."  
  
The alien's expression is now unmistakably astonished. It says, "Sexual - ? We have no information about the mating habits of her species. Do you claim to have experience in these matters?"  
  
"Experience," says Loki as lasciviously as possible, "is too frail a word. I have coupled with those of Midgard, men and women, many times, to the great satisfaction of all parties. They are a most sensual race."  
  
"What - are you saying?" Natasha says slowly.  
  
"I offer an alternative to combat, bloodshed, and death," says Loki. "*Her* death, of course. I propose that we engage in coitus, to satisfy your curiosity, in as many ways and as many times as possible, within a set amount of time. At the end of which you free us both and let us go in peace."  
  
The alien stands there for a full minute, then snaps, "We will consider your proposal," and slides the panel shut with a bang.  
  
Natasha has not looked away from Loki since he made his comment about other talents. Now she narrows her eyes and says, "You don't expect me to go along with that idea, do you?"  
  
"Ms. Romanov," says Loki. He turns his back on her, strolls over to the table where the aliens have provided food he does not require, and makes a show of selecting a grape and popping it in his mouth. "You may go along or not, but I have a feeling our hosts will be taking me up on my generous offer."  
  
"How is forcing me to have sex with you a generous offer, for anyone but you?"  
  
Loki frowns.  
  
"You insult me," he says.  
  
"Good."  
  
"You assume that the experience would be unpleasant."  
  
"Wouldn't it?"  
  
"Not as unpleasant as having your neck wrung by me," he says deliberately. "Come now, it's not as though you have any virtue to defend. Or that you've never given your body in exchange for information, freedom, a tactical advantage."  
  
She's relaxed her stance slightly, and she's listening, a good sign. He goes back to sit on the divan.  
  
"Quite apart from the pleasure you would experience," he continues, "you'd be able to return to your realm and regale your comrades with tales of seducing and bedding Loki the Trickster, hm? How your wiles subdued me to the point of allowing you to escape, and leaving me to face the consequences?"  
  
Now Natasha frowns. "That's not how it would happen, though, is it?"  
  
"Of course not," Loki scoffs. "But how are they to know? Why not make up something plausible, and favorable to yourself?"  
  
"Loki the Liesmith," Natasha says disdainfully. "You're assuming I'll agree to go along with your scheme."  
  
He looks up at her with a cold smirk.  
  
"Agree, or not," he tells her. "As you wish. It won't matter when the time comes - not to me, anyway."  
  


* * *

The time comes. Natasha is sleeping in a corner, having disdained the large, soft, clean bed on which Loki reclines. He's lying on his stomach with his head on his arms, watching his fellow prisoner breathe and deciding how best to make her lose that steady rhythm.  
  
The lights flicker, and on the domed ceiling appears a circle, projected from the exterior. There are symbols around the edge of it and a line extending from the center to the rim.   
  
"When the arm has made a complete circle," says an unseen voice, "and returns to its starting point, your task will be finished."  
  
And that's all. Loki knows they're watching - have been since he was brought here - it's probably a form of entertainment for them. Or perhaps it is actual behavioral research. Either way, he might as well get to it.  
  
He looks over to see Natasha, sitting cross-legged in the corner, wide awake.  
  
"Your task," she retorts. "I didn't sign up for it."  
  
Loki rolls his eyes. "If you don't value your own hide highly enough to take a few rolls in the hay, that's not my problem. I would prefer to stay alive, therefore, I will be fucking you, Natasha. Starting now."  
  
He rolls off the bed and strolls toward her corner; she darts away to stand in the center of the room.  
  
"What are your objections, Agent Romanov? You don't perform well under pressure? You don't like being watched? You don't like my looks? No, it can't be that," he smirks. "You draw the line at coupling with the enemy? Allow me to remind you that my rehabilitation has been completed, by Odin and Frigga themselves, and your dear Director is satisfied as well."  
  
"Earth is still off limits to you," says Natasha. "You show so much as a hair, and Thor and Hulk will be all over you."  
  
Loki stares at her and then his smile widens.  
  
"I would far rather have *you* all over me, Natasha."   
  
She holds her ground when he comes over to stand beside her, not too close, but close enough to catch the scent of her hair as she stares determinedly in front of her, away from him.  
  
"You're welcome to pretend I'm someone else," he murmurs. "Your friend Barton, perhaps? Or Agent Hill? I regret that I'm unable to shapeshift into a woman at the moment. What is your pleasure, Natasha?"  
  
She turns to look him in the eye. "My pleasure is to see you lying dead on the floor."  
  
"Let us first live to fight another day," Loki purrs. "On level ground, not at the whim of some lecherous aliens."  
  
Her eyes narrow; he holds his breath for a long moment. Finally, she circles around him slowly, watching him the while, and goes over to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Get it over with, then," she says.  
  
"Would you like to remove your garments now?" Loki asks as he comes to stand before her. "Or shall I tear them from your body?"  
  
She rolls her eyes, but unfastens her skin-tight trousers and pushes them down to her ankles, then lies back and kicks off her boots and trousers.  
  
Perfect, Loki thinks, and he goes down on his knees between her thighs.  
  
Natasha shrieks, "No - what are you - just fuck me already!" but his mouth is planted solidly over her copper-haired mound, his tongue homing in on her entrance, arms locked around her thighs to keep her from closing them on his head. He feels her pulling his hair and hammering her thankfully bare heels on his spine, trying to dig her nails into his scalp and flinging her weight over.  
  
He holds fast throughout her struggles, lapping and nuzzling and tasting her essence as she lubricates under his tongue. At one point she manages to haul herself off the bed but can only stand hanging onto the frame, bent half over and gasping while he brings a final assault to her clitoris. Even as she's whimpering, "No, I can't," she is, her flesh throbs against his mouth and he tastes her final tribute, hears her cry out in shock and completion.  
  
"Bastard," Natasha pants, still gripping the bed frame. "Son of a bitch bastard."  
  
"It's possible," says Loki as he slips out from under her and stands. "I have no idea who my maternal parent might have been. Still, you say that like it's a bad thing."  
  
He's undoing his trousers as he speaks, and once they're pushed down to his knees he lays his hands on Natasha's hips and presses his erection between her buttocks. Leaning over, he murmurs, "Shall we?"  
  
"Just do it, asshole."  
  
"I intend to, as soon as you ask nicely. I wouldn't want you to run back to your people crying rape."  
  
She bows her head for a moment; why is she stalling?  
  
"What if I say...no?" she asks.  
  
Loki grins. "Contrary to popular belief, I am a patient man," he tells her. "And I have plenty of ideas to keep us busy until you change your mind."  
  
"Not gonna happen," she snaps. He ignores the comment, instead shifting his grip, spreading her sweet, tight buttocks and pressing his shaft into the valley between them.  
  
"Ah...your bottom feels as good as it looks, my dear," he sighs and starts rocking his hips, rubbing up and down between her cheeks. He reaches one hand around in front to sink his fingers between her folds, slicking them and bringing them back to provide some slight lubrication to his cock.  
  
She hangs onto the bed and braces her legs, but remains silent. He can see the side of her face, her jaw clenching, probably in anger. It doesn't bother him - in fact, he knows the fine line between fury and lust and how to take advantage of it.  
  
"Let me tell you," he says as he thrusts. "Tell you how I will amuse myself, while you deny me. This is just the beginning... while my body readies for another climax I will torment yours, not with pain, but with pleasure. Unless, of course, you find pleasure in pain."  
  
"Shut up," she growls.  
  
"You will feel my fingers and tongue, everywhere," he goes on relentlessly. "Breasts, face, fingers, toes, even here - " he gives her backside a squeeze and a sharp slap - "where humans are so conflicted. There is no part of you that I'll hesitate over, and in the end you'll beg for my cock."  
  
"In your dreams," she retorts. Loki laughs; somehow her verbal lashing is goading his arousal and he feels his climax coming, gives way to both laughter and groaning, pulls back and spills between her cheeks and over her thighs.  
  
Loki is still grinning as Natasha crawls up on the bed, stripping off his clothing as she kneels up to remove the top part of her suit.  
  
"Lovely," he says, reaching out to run a finger down her spine as she bares it. Natasha shrugs off his touch and lies down on her stomach.  
  
"Make yourself useful," she snaps. "Clean up your mess."  
  
Loki takes hold of her ankles, gently pulling them apart and running his hands up the backs of her legs. She makes no move to prevent him and he climbs up and lies down with his face between her thighs. At the first touch of his tongue on the back of her knee, she doesn't flinch or jerk away, but she relaxes and spreads her legs further. He applies his mouth with broad strokes, licking his own essence from her skin; he works his way up one leg, then the other, and then shifts up a bit to lay kisses and nips over her buttocks.  
  
When her hips rise slightly to meet his mouth, he's more certain than ever that she's not one of those humans with inhibitions about anal play. He lays his hands on her cheeks and parts them, licking his way down the sides of the firm globes, into the valley between them, pressing the flat of his tongue against her anus.  
  
He lifts his head to see her flushed face, turned to watch him, and he says, "Is this what you want? To be served, to command, a queen among drones?"  
  
It would certainly explain her association with that pack of lost boys, he thinks. He doesn't want to spoil the mood, though, so he merely licks his lips and speaks in his most seductive tones.  
  
"Command me."  
  
For answer, Natasha pulls her knees up, tipping her ass up and exposing her hole even more.  
  
"Lick my ass," she says in a suprisingly steady voice.  
  
Only Sif had ever dared dominate Loki in bed. This israther titillating, to be ordered by this slip of a mortal girl. She fancies herself in command - he will allow it, but only as long as it pleases *him*.  
  
He licks his thumbs and presses them gently on either side of her opening, breathing warm air over her tight pucker, then closes his eyes and buries his face between her buttocks, his tongue loose and hot, squirming up and down while his hands fondle her cheeks. When he makes his tongue blunt and firm and presses against her hole she moans softly and leans into his touch.  
  
Loki doubts she's ever had a tonguing this good. He takes his time, exploring, teasing, finally working her open with his tongue, stretching her, getting her wet. Her pulse is quickening; he thrusts in as far as he can go, hears her gasp and feels her back stiffen. She reaches down to get a hand between her legs while he draws back, slowly, but he slaps her hand away and slides a long finger between her folds, up not quite as far as to touch her clitoris as his tongue pushes back in, then down as far as her entrance as he pulls it out.  
  
Natasha is grunting softly and cursing in several languages. Loki knows them all and he'd grin if he could; she's losing her mind, and to him no less. Her legs start to tremble and he keeps up the gentle rubbing up and down between her labia, the not-so-gentle pumping of her ass with his tongue, and adds a thumb to the mix, sinking easily into her wet vagina, filling and stroking her.  
  
As her orgasm begins he draws his tongue out of her, licks the fingers of his free hand and pushes the longest into her ass, deep, and he bites down on her buttock as she comes and growls and convulses in his hands.   
  
Loki leaves Natasha gasping and wrung out on the bed, and goes to wash his hands and pour wine for both of them. Then he settles in, sitting with his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him and back against the head of the bed, and waits until her breathing has leveled off a bit and she rolls on her side, pushing her tousled hair out of her face.  
  
"Welcome back," he says, handing her a glass of wine. He wouldn't be surprised if she threw it at him, but she settles for downing it in one gulp and handing the glass back. Loki smiles and sets it gently down on the floor, still sipping his own. His other hand goes to caress his cock, hardening in his lap while he lazily drinks and watches his companion.  
  
She opens her eyes and looks up at him.  
  
"Taking care of yourself?" she says, but with less venom than before. "Good, because I'm not going to. In fact, I think I'll just lie here and watch."  
  
"I'll enjoy that," says Loki. "You should know by now that nothing about sex fazes me in the least. If you think I'll be embarrassed at pleasuring myself in front of an audience - well, let's just say that our current keepers are most likely riveted to whatever hidden surveillance they've set up."  
  
Natasha leans up on her elbows and snorts, "I don't care who's watching, or why. Doesn't bother me. You said it yourself - I've used my body as a tool, a weapon, a bribe. Whatever I do with it, or to it, what's inside is still me, still mine."  
  
"Ah," he says. "So you won't mind if I use it for a while."  
  
He leans down to set his glass on the floor and almost falls off the bed when a resounding slap lands on his buttock. Slowly he straightens and turns his head to see Natasha kneeling up on the bed, poised to smack him again.  
  
"What," says Loki, "was that for?"  
  
"Rehab or not," she snaps, "I don't think you were spanked enough as a child."  
  
"Never," he states. "I have never been 'spanked', as you call it. I have met others in battle and in contests of wit and will, and triumphed. This juvenile punishment is common on Midgard, I understand, and as a sexual practice among adults."  
  
"So, never. Not even your mother?"  
  
"She never lifted a hand against me," he says smugly. "Not because I was so virtuous, but because I never got caught."  
  
"I think it's time somebody took care of that oversight."  
  
Loki is tall and strong, but of course he underestimated her; she's taken down larger, stronger men on a regular basis. She has him pinned, head hanging off the bed, arms twisted behind him, straddling his thighs with a vise grip. He's not worried; he could get out of this, if he liked. Let her have her way for the moment.  
  
He feels leather against his wrists; she's binding him, but with what? She shifts and does the same thing to his calves just behind his knees.  
  
"You should be more careful about where you leave your clothes lying around," she says. "Lots of nice leather straps on that outfit."  
  
"You are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Natasha? I know you were aroused when I allowed you to order me about. Was that insufficient? Do you need further - ah!"  
  
While he's been talking, Natasha has tightened his bonds and turned him to lie crosswise on the bed, legs dangling off one side from the knees down, face mashed into the coverlet. She arranges herself astride his lower back, facing his feet, and slaps his ass again.  
  
The first few blows are hard and angry - he doesn't blame her for that - and then she pauses, then resumes, varying the strength and location of each smack. Once he's estimated how hard, how often, and at what angle she can hit, he's all set to spend a listless half hour under her futile attempt at humiliation.  
  
What Loki is not prepared for is his body's reaction to her hand. It's true that he's never indulged in this from either side, whether for discipline or pleasure, giving or receiving. He does not allow anyone to dominate him sexually; even Sif's imperiousness was half in play. (He thinks.)  
  
Yet this small human hand, lacking magic or authority, is paddling his behind relentlessly, changing just often enough to preclude prediction. And the heat rising under her hand, far from being unwelcome, is making his loins heat up as well. When he tries to wonder why, he can only come up with one reason: it's *new*.  
  
"I shall have to experiment with this practice when we are released," he says, trying to sound bored. "I can see how some might find it - stimulating, in a wicked sort of way."  
  
Natasha doesn't reply. She does shift and shove him until he's on his knees on the floor, bent over with his torso pressed against the bed, kneeling on his shoulders as she leans over to resume spanking him.  
  
At this angle his cock dangles, exposed and unprotected, and his ass is at a more prominent angle than before, and somehow it feels different now. He spreads his knees a bit and she grabs his buttocks ands squeezes, hard, jerking an unintentional sound from his throat, sending a rush of blood to his groin.  
  
"Feeling better now?" he manages to say. "Getting your revenge on the big bad Loki?"  
  
"Shut up," she growls. "Shut the fuck up."  
  
In contrast to her fierce words, her hands become gentle, stroking over the reddened skin, caressing, as if trying to comfort. She drags her fingers between his buttocks, going lower to explore the area behind his balls, rubbing circles over the perineum and bringing a further flare of arousal to his cock.  
  
Loki tries to breathe normally - he doesn't want his tormentor to know the burgeoning pleasure he's feeling - and not to lean into her hand when she fondles his balls. Her hand leaves him briefly, comes up over his ass and drops under his abdomen to squeeze his cock, and he bites his tongue to keep from groaning.  
  
Maintaining her hold on his manhood, Natasha hauls off and smacks his bottom and he can't help but let out a sharp cry.  
  
"You go too far," he gasps, trying to lift his shoulders off the bed. She just sits back on her haunches and keeps slapping him; at least she's let go of his aching cock. His relief is short-lived, however. There's a pause in the assault and then she's prying his ass cheeks apart and shoving a spit-slick thumb into his anus. Loki's body jerks upward as she forces it in, the pleasure of stimulation balanced with the pain of invasion.  
  
He loses track for a bare moment of where she is, then realizes she's slid off his shoulders and is bent over his back, standing behind him, her thumb still wriggling into his ass and her other hand in a death grip around the base of his cock. She bites down on his arm where it's still bound behind him, not drawing blood but hard enough.  
  
"Mewling quim, huh?" she spits. "Unlimited power? Who's mewling now, Loki? Come on, tell me how it feels to be at *my* mercy."  
  
Loki grits his teeth and growls at her, not sure what will come out of his mouth if he speaks, and she applies her teeth to his other arm, then licks at the bite mark. The hand circling his cock relaxes slightly and the thumb in his anus is pulled out as she moves that hand lower to curl around his balls. In the moment of relief he's swept by sensation: her breath on his neck, her weight on his back, the hard points of her nipples pressed against his skin, the soft hair between her legs rubbing the back of his thigh, and over all, the scent of arousal and sex and perspiration.  
  
Before he can help himself he lets out a sound, something like a moan or a plea, and Natasha stills as though waiting for more. Her fingers stroke lightly up and down his shaft and he jerks and moans again.  
  
"What's this?" she whispers. "More tricks?"  
  
She lets go of his privates and seizes his thighs; with impressive strength she heaves him up onto the bed, over on his back, his arms pinned under him again. She leans over, studying his face as if reading her future. Or his.  
  
"No tricks," he mutters. "Some responses cannot be hidden."  
  
Natasha cocks an eyebrow and reaches down to stroke him firmly a couple of times.  
  
"True," she says. "That doesn't tell me, though, where your mind is."  
  
She tightens her grip and he gasps out, "More - "  
  
"More what?"  
  
He can't say what's in his head, no matter how much he wants, not to her, he can barely admit it to himself...  
  
He's shocked when her lips come softly down to his, teasing, promising, tickling his mouth open so she can sink into it. He strains upward to meet her and that sound escapes him again and he *almost* doesn't care.  
  
His head drops back on the bed. Her tongue makes its way down his neck, tracing wetly over a nipple, then sucking. He arches his back for more and she closes her teeth on his flesh, and at the flash of pain/pleasure he actually cries out.  
  
"Natasha," he pants.  
  
"Say it," she says, nipping her way back up to his ear.  
  
"I - can't."  
  
"If you can't say it, you can't have it," she tells him, worrying his earlobe between her teeth.  
  
"Unbind me - "  
  
"And then? Why should I, Loki Silvertongue? What will you do?" Her mouth hovers over his. "What will you let  *me* do?"  
  
Loki takes a deep breath and lets it out on one word.  
  
"Anything."  
  
He expects her to come up with something humiliating, or painful (though he doesn't think she could do much without a weapon), or something she thinks is shockingly lewd (and really, there isn't anything lewd that he hasn't heard about). He's startled to feel her loosing the straps around his legs and arms; he leans up on his elbows to look at her as she throws them on the floor.  
  
Natasha goes over to get some wine and bread, bringing it back to the bed. She hands him some and they both eat in silence. Loki is just finishing the wine when he feels her hand close around his leg, over the place where the bindings chafed.  
  
When he puts down his glass, she says, "Lie back, flat. And close your eyes."  
  
Loki lies down, but doesn't take his eyes off her.  
  
"Don't make me blindfold you," she warns. He opens his mouth to speak and she adds, "And no talking, either. I wouldn't believe anything you say, anyway."  
  
He lets his head fall back and gives a theatrical sigh.  
  
Natasha runs her fingers through his hair, stroking it back from his face, then she rubs the spot on the back of his neck that's never quite relaxed; her fingertips explore under his jaw, around his ears, over his lips and nose and brows. It makes his skin tingle, not unpleasantly, but he's still wary of where this is going.  
  
Her hands go on to touch, stroke, finger every inch of his skin; at times she sits astride him or lies beside him, gently manipulating his limbs, raising an arm or leg. She doesn't miss his privates, but caresses them as she does everything else, and his cock stirs but doesn't harden as she moves on.  
  
Perhaps it's the wine, or the silence, or the continuous caress, but he's feeling rather disconnected, his mind floating without purpose. If she tries to injure him now, he tells himself, he is ready to retaliate, swiftly and mercilessly, but for the moment he's content.  
  
Natasha tips him over on his stomach and works her way up his calves, thighs, buttocks, over the curve of his spine, not pressing or massaging, just - petting him. When her hands are in his hair again she stops and spreads herself out, lying on his back and resting her head between his shoulder blades. He could fall asleep like this...  
  
...until her hips shift, her thigh presses between his legs and she rubs herself, slowly and easily, against him. He can feel the heat of her sex, at the same time her mouth opens against his skin, not to bite but to lick and kiss.  
  
She turns him over again and he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to break this sensuous dream. She crawls on top of him, spread-eagled, placing his manhood between her legs and rubbing against him, so gently still, wet and hot and soft, her nipples brushing his chest.  
  
HIs cock swells under her, giving her hard flesh to slide up and down over; her breath deepens but she doesn't change her pace or pressure. His mouth is slightly open and he breathes in sharply when she lifts her weight off him, abandoning his slick shaft. He almost opens his eyes then but is pre-empted by something brushing against his lips - something warm and not quite soft, something that fits enticingly in his mouth.  
  
Loki closes his lips on her breast and sucks, softly, easily, and when she pulls away and presses the other one to his lips he takes it in and lavishes the same attention to it.  
  
There are fingers fumbling at the head of his cock; she brings the tip to her entrance and arches her back and hips to slide him just barely into her, teasing. Her hand comes up to cradle the back of his neck as he lifts his head to keep his mouth on her nipple. At last she makes a sound, and it's a soft, long groan of pleasure.  
  
All at once her weight is off him; he feels her lie beside him, not touching, and he turns his head and opens his eyes to see her looking back at him. Why can he never read this woman's face fully?  
  
"I'm willing to bet that you've never put anyone's pleasure before your own," she says quietly. "When you think you're a god, you get away with that. I don't think you're a god, and I don't think you can pay more attention to me than to yourself."  
  
"Nonsense," he says, but it comes out rather unconvincingly. "The first time I pleasured you - "  
  
"You were doing that to prove you could," she scoffs. "That wasn't for my pleasure, it was a power play. Everything you've done here has been an attempt to show me that you're the boss."  
  
"Says the woman who has experienced more climaxes in one afternoon than in her entire life," he snorts.  
  
"Says the woman who earlier had you tied and ready to submit to anything," she quotes.  
  
"I could have - "  
  
"That's why I'll give you one more chance to have me willingly, instead of having to hold me down and fuck me."  
  
"But that sounds so very enticing," Loki smiles, licking his lips and contemplating taking her thus, right now.  
  
She studies him for a moment. Her opinion is not important to him, but he can just imagine her thoughts. She despises him - hates him - would kill him if she could - but she thinks that dominating him sexually might satisfy her lust for revenge. Still, if that's the case, why didn't she punish him when she had the chance?  
  
He thinks of the leather straps she used to bind him, imagines how thay would crack against his buttocks, and he catches his breath and tries to shake off the image. Swallowing hard, he says, "I'm waiting for you to state your terms."  
  
He's managed to recover a bit of his usual bored tone, but to his surprise she smiles.  
  
"The way I was just touching you," she says. "That's how you touch a lover whom you respect, someone whose body you want to experience complete, uncontrolled ecstasy. Someone who trusts you to put them first and your own lust second. Or third, or..."  
  
"I understand," he interrupts. Leaning up on an elbow, he traces her lips with a finger and says, "Why should I care what you experience, or think, or trust?"  
  
She bites down on his fingertip, then releases it and says, "I'm not asking you to care. I'm challenging you to perform as if you do. If you can't, if sex is just a big smackdown to you, well then, have at it."  
  
She folds her hands behind her head and looks away as if to say We're done.  
  
Loki lets his eyes rove over her while he considers. Why is he spending any time thinking about this? She's a wench, like any other, actually more fragile than many, and he could fuck her five times and never pay heed to her comfort and not look back. Perhaps that's what fascinates him about her - he's never bedded someone who truly has no interest in his satisfaction.  
  
He splays his fingers across her clavicle, strokes them down her body. His hand is broad enough that he can prod both her nipples at once, with thumb and little finger; her chest rises and falls in a deep sigh and he bends to kiss her mouth.  
  
He will show her now, just how good he is at this, and when she's half-conscious with pleasure he'll fuck her into the mattress, his own way, get the last laugh.  
  
Loki busies himself, exploring her mouth with his lips and tongue, all the while musing on how he'll bring on the conclusion of today's activities, whether he should penetrate her sex or her ass, how long he should make her wait to come. Whether he should bring her off at all.  
  
A sharp pain on the top of his head makes him jerk up and growl, "You dare."  
  
Natasha, who has just applied her knuckles to his skull, snaps, "You're supposed to be thinking about what you can do for your partner, not how to get the most out of this for yourself."  
  
His mouth drops open; what divination is this, from such a woman? It seems she deduces that thought as well.  
  
"Oh, please," she says. "You said it yourself. I can let someone use my body while my mind observes; it's not so hard to tell what goes on in a man's head when his dick is driving."  
  
"I assure you," he begins, but she closes her eyes and ignores him.  
  
Loki studies her form for a few minutes. She's relaxed, at his mercy, actually, and yet her very disregard for his presence, knowing what he's capable of, is...somehow...oddly alluring. He leans down, not to kiss her mouth, but to flick his tongue over the curve of her ear, snakelike, and she tips her head a bit to bare her neck for him.  
  
He makes a feast of her, using his tongue and lips to taste and tease and intrude and suck. From the sensitive shell of her ear down to her toes he laps and laves, ending by sucking hard on each toe while she breathes hard and flexes her fingers in the sheets like a cat.  
  
He pushes her legs up and apart and lies with his face level with her sex. Every fold, every glistening swell is exposed, and when he tilts her even further her anus becomes available as well. A feast indeed, he thinks, grinning.   
  
Loki plies his mouth and fingers over every part; he licks broad swipes over and between her lips, pokes the point of his tongue inside her entrance, wets his fingers in his mouth and works her ass open again while he torments her womanhood.  
  
He has three fingers in her anus when she comes the first time, his tongue circling her clitoris, and he drags his fingers out slowly, pausing now and then to feel her tight muscle clamping down in ecstasy. Her body releases waves of hot fluid and he chases down every drop, finally releasing her and coming up on all fours over her as she lies panting.  
  
"Only the beginning, my sweet," he promises. Taking his prick in hand, he shifts upward and rubs the head over her lips, and when her tongue comes out he lets her taste but not suck it in. He shifts again, this time using it on her nipples, leaving drops of his essence slick on her skin.  
  
He uses his cock to tease her navel, slides it between her labia and nudges the tip against her clitoris while she tries to thrust her hips up at him for more pressure and he shifts to counter her motion, maintaining gentle contact until she twists and cries out in another orgasm.  
  
When her eyes focus, she's looking down at his erection as if expecting him to use it at last, but he has one more surprise for her. He rolls her gently on her side and lies facing her, drawing her into his arms and enfolding her, surrounding her with his legs and arms and kissing her neck. They lie like this for some time, until she relaxes entirely and he thinks she's fallen asleep.  
  
He could certainly take her now. He's risen to her challenge, to pleasure her repeatedly before seeking his own release, not even pressing his advantage now, but holding her as women usually prefer. It would be easy, now, but somehow he feels that mere penetration and completion would be *too* base, too ordinary.  
  
Natasha's hands are stroking lazily through his hair, down his spine, and he rolls on his back and raises his arms above his head.  
  
"Like this," he says softly. "You can take me any way you like, I will not resist."  
  
She sits astride him and tosses back her hair. Her mouth is round and wet and her eyes dark, color high in her cheeks.  
  
"I don't trust you," she says.  
  
"I don't expect you to," he replies. "The conditions were for us to engage in intercourse. Thus far we have pleasured each other and yet haven't truly joined, and our time runs short. I give you charge of my body for the final act. What more can I offer?"  
  
Natasha leans forward slowly and places her hands on his wrists; she can't really hold him down this way, but he recognizes the action as symbolic.  
  
"Keep your legs flat," she tells him and he nods. "And...talk to me," she adds, almost as an afterthought.  
  
"Any particular topic?" he smirks, thinking she wants typical obscenity.  
  
"Me," she replies. "Talk about me, my body, not you and your desires or plans. Got it?"  
  
Loki tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Humans are so needy. Then he reminds himself to be courteous to the wench who's about to get him off and he nods again and says softly, "Take me, then."  
  
In response, she brings her fingers to his mouth for him to suck, then surprises him by scooting down between his legs and slipping those fingers under his balls, pressing behind them and pushing further back. Loki raises his knees slightly and gets his cock slapped as a result.  
  
"Legs flat," she repeats. "Raise your hips a little."  
  
Loki does so and her hand squirms between his cheeks, reaching to sink a finger into his hole, while her other hand grips his cock at the base.  
  
"You know far too much about a man's body," he mutters. "Vixen."  
  
"Would you like to rephrase that, Loki?" She squeezes him, too hard, and he gasps and tries again.  
  
"I meant only that you know how to pleasure as well as torment," he says. "Simultaneously, in fact."  
  
"Tell me," she asks. "Right now, where do you feel pleasure?"  
  
"In my ass..."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I feel your hot little fingers groping into me...here comes another...playing over the sensitive inner walls...just short of that dangerous spot..."  
  
"I can feel you tighten around my fingers," she murmurs. "Shall I try for three?"  
  
"Please, yes...so gently...stretch me, pierce me...ah, almost, almost..."  
  
He pulls in a sharp breath as she deliberately pulls away from the place he wants her to touch. Without warning, she thrusts her fingers back in, the tips pressing firmly on the gland, but her other hand is tight on his cock and he cannot release. His whole body spasms in an unfamiliar, overwhelming wave of pain and pleasure and a cry escapes him.  
  
He has never been denied in this way. Apart from the physical effects, he feels, not anger, but desperation, another sensation he has rarely experienced. For a moment his mind and body battle for supremacy, then he manages to form words.  
  
"Please," he says hoarsely. "Please, Natasha..."  
  
"Please, what?" she says, softly, still prodding and restraining him.  
  
"Please, let me come," he begs.  
  
"Let you? Am I the one to decide, Loki?"  
  
"Yes," he hisses. "Please, it's - it feels - "  
  
"How does it feel?" she asks, her tone almost solicitous.  
  
"Exquisite," he gasps. "Like a knife edge...unbearable...near bursting..."  
  
She pulls her fingers out of him and, keeping hold of his cock, straddles his hips, his tip barely brushing her mound. He just manages not to thrust up into her.  
  
"Still exquisite?" she asks.  
  
"Yes... please," Loki says; the torment in his anus is subsiding but there is still the agony of his straining prick.   
  
Natasha dips down slightly and he feels her, wet and swollen, against the head of his manhood. He should twist away, flip her over and ram into her, but somehow he's hanging beneath a pendulum of her making, waiting, wanting.  
  
"Lick your fingers," she orders, "and play with my nipples."  
  
Loki is quick to obey, and she tosses her head and sinks down another inch.  
  
"Take one hand," she pants, "and touch my clit, make me come."  
  
Hopefully, he gives her nipple a last tweak and brings that hand down between her legs, trying not to touch his cock. If he could think, he'd be impressed that she's maintained this position, but at the moment he's only registering the need to come and the luscious sensation of her sex against his fingers.  
  
She's watching him through half-lidded eyes; he strokes her slowly in all the ways he knows and watches her tremble and gasp, closing in on her orgasm.  
  
"Come. Now," she shouts and lets go of his prick, falling forward to seize his upper arms as his hips piston upward, over and over. He takes hold of her hips and throws his head back, eyes open just enough to watch her riding him like a jockey, keening her pleasure and taking him deep.  
  
Loki comes as he's never come before; hard is too faint a word, and the sound he makes is almost a howl.  
  
"Fuck yes," Natasha groans as her climax subsides. Loki gives a few last jerks and feels her weight on his chest, and it seems appropriate to wrap his arms around her.

* * *

  
"Nat!"  
  
"Agent Romanov - "  
  
Steve and Clint are running toward her as she sits up, feeling dazed and wrung out. She looks around and figures out she's in Central Park, smack in the middle of a broad meadow. Fortunately, it's a balmy day, and she's back in her clothes, though she doesn't remember putting them on.  
  
She gets to her feet just as they reach her, dusting herself off and trying to answer their questions while simultaneously taking mental stock of her condition.  
  
"Are you all right?" Steve asks. "You disappeared during the fight on the bridge."  
  
Footwear, check. SHIELD standard jumpsuit, check.  
  
"I'm okay," she says vaguely. "How long was I - out?"  
  
"Probably four or five hours," Clint replies. "Once the dust settled nobody could find you. Your comm was dropped in the park, without you, obviously, but the tracking signal worked, so we've been over the grounds with a fine toothed comb."  
  
He holds out her earbud and she puts it in, taps it to be sure it's working.  
  
"Where were you?" Steve asks.  
  
"I don't really know," she says honestly. Bruises, no more than usual. No broken bones, nothing bleeding. She shakes out her arms and legs -   
  
"I need to change," she says abruptly, having realized that her bra and panties are missing. Steve turns away to talk to the team, call them in, and Clint looks Natasha up and down and sidles closer.  
  
"Do you remember anything?" he asks.  
  
"I don't know," she hedges, annoyed, wondering why he's giving her a puzzled look. "What? Do I have something stuck to my ass?"  
  
"Not at the moment," he says, looking. "But you might want to zip up a little more, before Stark gets a look at that monkey bite."  
  
"What!" Natasha peers down her front and sure enough, nestled in her un-brassiered cleavage is a purpling mark, not breaking the skin but obviously made by a sucking mouth. She jerks up her zipper just in time; Steve is coming back and she can see Iron Man on the horizon.  
  
"You didn't see anything," she says to Clint, glowering. "Not a thing, you got me?"  
  
"Not me," he says, lifting his hands in surrender. "But if there was alien abduction sex involved, promise you'll tell me about it next time we get drunk."  
  
Natasha snorts. "Dream on, Barton."  
  
That story might come in handy, though, when it comes time to explain what happened. And with whom.


End file.
